Jewel of Their Souls
by mahc
Summary: JED-DONNA - Seventh story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. 'A good name in man and woman, my dear Lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls.' William Shakespeare
1. Chapter One

This is the next story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. They fall in this order:  
  
"As I Was Drifting Away" "In Your Eyes" "Some Say" "Stony Limits" "Beauty and Honor" "Loves' Creation" "Jewel of Their Souls"  
  
Thanks for the feedback and for reading!  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: None, really, except the other stories in this series Rating: PG Disclaimer: Jed, Donna, C.J. and the rest are AS's creation, but I created the baby. (Well, Jed and Donna did with a little help from me.)  
  
Jewel of Their Souls - Chapter One  
  
A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
"You know, there are some good names in my family's history."  
  
Donna looked up at her husband and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. The warm fire blazed in front of them as they sat on the couch in the Residence, their son held to her breast, suckling greedily. Gentle sounds from an instrumental CD of children's songs floated around them.  
  
All right, she had been kidding about Moon Unit, but she wasn't at all sure that some of his suggestions were given in the same spirit of jest. "Such as?"  
  
His eyes lit with the rare bit of encouragement she threw him. "Well, the first Josiah Bartlet, the signer of the Declaration of Independence had four sons, two of whom were named Josiah."  
  
"Two?"  
  
"The first died young, so he named the next one Josiah, too."  
  
"Okay. You want to name him Josiah Junior?"  
  
He shook his head. "Nah. He needs his own identity."  
  
She agreed, but she had no problem with her husband's name. She liked it quite a bit, actually. It had a richness that spoke of history and significance. But his rejection meant he was proposing something else. "What," she asked warily, "were the others?"  
  
"Ezra."  
  
"Ezra?"  
  
"It means 'helper' in Hebrew."  
  
"You knew that off the top of your head?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"What's the other?"  
  
"Levi."  
  
"Ezra and Levi?"  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"Let's re-visit Moon Unit."  
  
He sighed and she joined him as they watched their child press a tiny fist against his mother. The first-born son of the President of the United States was ten days old now, home from the hospital for more than half his life and still not named. They had just been so shocked that it was not a girl that they had not prepared at all for a male heir to the Bartlet legacy.  
  
"You know," she reminded him, "this is all your fault."  
  
"My fault?" His brow lifted in innocence.  
  
"Yes, Mister 'I know it's a girl'. Your fault."  
  
He grinned, accepting the blame. "I'm still a little stunned about it myself."  
  
She didn't know if he meant the baby being a boy or his being wrong, but she didn't mind because at that moment she was bathed in the warm tenderness on his face as he watched his wife and child. One hand rested lightly on the infant's head, the other circled her waist, which was gradually becoming visible again.  
  
"He is beautiful, isn't he?" he observed.  
  
She looked at the baby, his blonde hair swirling gently on his head, his even features already resembling those of his father. Shifting her own hand to rest on her husband's, she agreed. "He certainly is."  
  
"You know," he said, in a disarming tone that raised her defenses again, "Cicero was an amazing fellow. Greek historian - "  
  
"No."  
  
"But - "  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay." He took it in stride. She had already shot down at least 65 suggestions already, but he seemed prepared to continue valiantly. "Cleatus means 'illustrious' - "  
  
Choosing not to acknowledge that one, she just smiled fondly and kissed him and they both sat in silence, content to absorb the precious moment a little longer. As the solitude lengthened, her thoughts swam back to a week earlier.  
  
The homecoming had been a madhouse. It seemed all of America was smitten with their new prince and the press clamored for one glimpse of the child, one word from the parents. C.J. had been forced to take a firm stand regarding access. Their exodus from the hospital proved to be only a portent of the frenzy that would follow.  
  
It was a crisp fall day, only two weeks away from Thanksgiving, when mother and baby had been released, both doing well. Donna took special care in dressing her son in the blue Feltman Brothers gown that seemed to be the required dress for newborns. Then she blanketed him in the same color and allowed Jed to carry him for his first exposure to the waiting world.  
  
When they neared the door, she gasped at the sight of the massive crowd just beyond the entrance. Hundreds of cameras and microphones were set up as close as C.J. had allowed. Her experiences with the media had been less than pleasant, and she drew in a deep breath to steel herself against the onslaught. Jed must have sensed her unease, because he shifted his son snugly into the crook of his right arm and reached down to grip her hand in his.  
  
"It's all right," he assured her softly. "C.J.'s got things under control."  
  
She had every confidence in C.J., but that didn't ease her apprehension in the least. She bore a new mother's neurotic anxiety over everything. The pavilion would collapse; the car would run over them; the reporters would rush them and trample them. She couldn't help it. It was hormonal.  
  
Still, logically, she realized he was right. Rising from the obligatory wheelchair at the entrance, she stood with her husband and child, smiling as best she could as the cameras exploded, the barrage of flashes nearly blinding them. Jed squeezed her hand tighter, nodding to the crowd, then helping her into the back of the limo, completely ignoring the wild shouts for his attention. With a sigh, she sat back against the seat and closed her eyes in relief.  
  
When she felt the warm weight in her lap, she opened her eyes again and saw that Jed offered her the baby, his hands still securely around him, but his face revealing the sacrifice involved in relinquishing the precious bundle. She leaned over and kissed him, their lips lingering on each other's for a long moment, their hands together holding this creation of their love.  
  
"I love you," he said simply, kissing her again.  
  
"I love you, too," she responded and considered the ease with which both statements had been made. No hesitation at all. No doubts.  
  
Then they secured the baby in the car seat and he stirred slightly, grunting at the injustice of being confined under the protective belts. The car pulled away, quickly moving past cameramen who risked their lives to race down the side of the road as far as they could.  
  
Jed eased back the blanket to look once more into his son's face. "Hey there, Thaddeus," he said.  
  
Donna blinked. "Thaddeus?"  
  
He shrugged sheepishly. "Just trying it out."  
  
"I hope you're done trying it out."  
  
"Don't like it, huh?"  
  
"Thaddeus?"  
  
"It means 'gift of God,'" he defended.  
  
Well, the sentiment was good, but - She shook her head.  
  
"Okay." At least he didn't protest. "What about Joseph?"  
  
Joseph? Not bad. "Why Joseph?"  
  
He grinned at her, his eyebrows bouncing suggestively. "It means 'God will increase.'"  
  
And the lust on his face assured her he would be keeping track of her check- ups with the gynecologist. Six weeks, she had said. Six weeks. Well, he had once gone over a year. She figured he could manage for six weeks.  
  
"What are you saying?" she asked, even though she thought she knew.  
  
But his expression changed, his teasing tone gone, his voice suddenly unsure as his hand caressed the child's soft cheek. Maybe she didn't know what he was saying after all. "I, uh, I don't know. I suppose I wondered if maybe - well, that you might want - "  
  
He broke off and she was surprised to read something that looked almost like fear in his eyes. The emotion, so uncharacteristic of him, threw her.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
A sigh lifted his shoulders and he turned to face her squarely. "Do you want more children, Donna?"  
  
Well, that was sudden. She tried to recover to answer him, tried to think about how she really felt. How did he feel? What was he fishing for from her? If she said yes, would he be mad? Having a whole new family at his age, and with the question about the future of his health, maybe he would balk at more children. This child was, after all, not planned in the first place. They had not ever actually discussed having children.  
  
"Do you?" she asked hesitantly, not sure if she wanted to hear his answer.  
  
He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "It's just that - I don't know how long - we don't know if - "  
  
She swallowed when she comprehended exactly what he was saying. Ever since they had gotten past the lung scare, they had not looked back - or forward for that matter, had not faced the possibility of what might happen if his health took a turn for the worse.  
  
"I don't want to burden you - "  
  
"Shh." Her fingers moved automatically to his lips, silencing him. "I love you. And love this child. And I want to have more children with you, Jed Bartlet."  
  
The emotions warred for dominance on his face.  
  
"You tell me," she said, "if we didn't have the MS to worry about, would you want more children?"  
  
"But we do - "  
  
"Tell me."  
  
He signed and she had to grit her teeth to hold the tears in check when she saw his eyes glisten. "I like this," he whispered seriously, sweeping a hand to include all three of them in the gesture. "And I want more. But I can't ask you to - "  
  
"Listen to me. I pledged for better or worse. So did you. I can't deny a child life just because I don't know what the future holds. You are in good health, physically and mentally. And you're gonna be around for a long time to be their father."  
  
"But - "  
  
"We're going to live today. And today we have a new baby. Thaddeus Moon Unit Bartlet. And he's going to need a brother or sister - or both."  
  
He allowed a smile to touch his lips and the lines of his shoulders fell in relief. "Okay."  
  
He leaned across the car seat and kissed her, harder this time, with the usual passion they shared and she found herself responding despite the knowledge that it couldn't lead anywhere yet.  
  
"Jed," she murmured against his mouth.  
  
"Hmm?" His lips nibbled across her jaw.  
  
Pulling back, she caught her breath and scolded, "I didn't actually mean that we should start trying NOW."  
  
He grinned and lifted his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Well, I just didn't want to get out of practice."  
  
He would never change. And she wouldn't have it any other way. "You just wait, Big Boy," she promised, pleased to see the desire sparkle in his eyes. "And it'll be well worth the wait."  
  
"Hey."  
  
Pulled back to the present, she opened her eyes to find Jed's gaze on her, his hand still behind her back, their son squirming against her. With a start, she realized the baby was protesting the loss of nourishment and she turned him around she that he could latch on to her other breast.  
  
The fire still crackled, the soft lullabies still played in the background.  
  
"You okay?" he asked, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek.  
  
"Oh yeah," she assured him. "I'm great."  
  
He chuckled and eased away from her, stepping to the fireplace to stoke the flames. "You know, C.J.'s after me to settle on a name. She says the world's getting antsy."  
  
Even though Donna knew they needed to, she couldn't help the flash of irritation that surged through her. "Well, they can get antsy. It's not their baby."  
  
He turned to her and smiled in understanding. "I know. But they sort of figure it is, in a way."  
  
That was probably true. The world was anxious for a real look at the President's son. They had agreed to let C.J. arrange a two-week birthday photography session. Nothing extensive - and only limited exposure. But they hoped it would satisfy, or at least appease, the demanding public and press. It would be done right there in the Residence, probably against the backdrop of the fireplace and they had both agreed to make it casual, informal.  
  
"You know, the Armenians have a name that means 'first son,'" he noted out of the blue.  
  
Armenians? Dear Lord, what could that be? Her lifted brow gave him permission to say it.  
  
"Antranig." Now how he managed that with a straight face, she'd never know.  
  
"I like it." She could give as good as she got, though. And the momentary shock in his eyes was well worth it until she couldn't withhold her laughter any longer.  
  
"Thank God," he breathed. "I thought for a minute you were serious."  
  
"Yeah, well, I think you have been serious with some of those names. And they weren't much better - "  
  
Finished with the fire, he knelt in front of her, bending to kiss the baby's forehead. Then he looked up and she saw the sincerity on his face. "Donna, I told you before, even when I thought he was a girl, I'll like whatever name you choose."  
  
And she knew that, but this was his first son, after all. And despite his assurances to her before that it didn't matter a bit whether it was a boy or a girl, she could see the delight he took in having a son. No, she wanted him to name the baby. Wanted him to have that pleasure.  
  
But there were limits. And Cleatus and Cicero were definitely outside those limits. So she remained content to hold Thaddeus Cleatus Cicero Antranig Bartlet and hope that at least by the time the child started kindergarten they might have finally agreed on something.  
  
Jed had joined them again, snuggling next to his family, encircling them with both arms, almost settled when the knock at the door drew a fierce curse from his lips.  
  
"Jed!" she said. "Don't say that in front of your son."  
  
Even though he looked a little sheepish, he claimed, "It's a good word. He needs to know how to use it correctly."  
  
Her response fell to a mumble as Leo entered, a huge yellow and brown giraffe nearly obscuring their view of him.  
  
"Leo!" Jed greeted, the amusement clear in his voice. "Who's your friend?"  
  
"Yeah, well, it was Margaret's idea. I told her it was too big - "  
  
"Hey, Leo," Donna called. "It's perfect. That's so sweet. Just put it on the bed."  
  
She covered the baby's head modestly as the chief of staff drew closer.  
  
"Aw, geez," he said, turning quickly when he saw what he had interrupted. "I'll just come back - "  
  
"No," Jed insisted, tugging him back in. "It's all right. A perfectly natural activity."  
  
"Yeah, but - "  
  
Donna rescued him. "It really is all right, Leo," she assured him as the baby's stomach bulged in satisfaction and she re-buttoned her blouse. Placing the child on her shoulder and patting his back gently, she called out, "I'm decent, now."  
  
"If you're sure - "  
  
"Get your ass in here," Jed ordered.  
  
"Jed - "  
  
"I know. I know. The baby." But he didn't sound too remorseful. Instead, he dragged his best friend over to stare at the newborn. "What do ya think?"  
  
"Again, Mister President," Leo indulged him for at least the fifth time since they came home, "I think he is certainly the most impressive baby I have ever seen."  
  
Donna laughed. "You sound a little coached there, Leo," she observed.  
  
"Leo is always honest, aren't you?"  
  
"Always."  
  
Baby Bartlet chose that moment for a resounding burp.  
  
"Again, very impressive," Leo acknowledged. "Where are Zoey and Ellie?" he asked, looking around.  
  
All of Jed's girls had been there at some point since the birth. Liz and Annie had left a few days ago. Zoey and Ellie had hung around a bit longer, still in awe of their new brother.  
  
"Ellie headed out this morning," Jed said, coming around to watch Leo watch his son. "Zoey's spending some time with Charlie. I think she's leaving tomorrow."  
  
The chief of staff cooed softly at the infant, and the sheer strangeness of seeing Leo McGarry speaking in baby talk drew a giggle from Donna.  
  
"What?" he protested, but didn't stop.  
  
"Both of you are already totally and completely wrapped around this child's little finger," she decided.  
  
The shrugged together. No need in denying it.  
  
"You just come for a visit?" Jed asked, obviously sensing something more.  
  
Without straightening, Leo said, "C.J.'s about to hold the press conference. Just thought you might want to watch."  
  
They both sighed, knowing what he hinted at. It was Jed who responded. "Look, Leo, I know what you're pushing and it will happen. But not before we're ready, okay?"  
  
His friend smiled. "Sure. It's just a little awkward, that's all, referring to the child of the President as 'the baby.' I was just checking to see if maybe - "  
  
"Not yet," Donna said. "Not yet, Leo. We're working on it."  
  
He didn't push it further. "Sure. Like I said, C.J. was just wondering."  
  
"She'll be the first to know," Jed assured him as he left. Then he flicked on the television anyway.  
  
The conference had begun already, and C.J. had apparently gotten the question first because she was already well into her explanation.  
  
"I believe I did mention at the last conference that the President and Mrs. Bartlet simply had not expected a boy and did not have any names picked out for one."  
  
"C.J.!"  
  
"Sandy?"  
  
"Why were they so sure?"  
  
Now C.J. grinned and Donna knew what was coming. She had been the press secretary's informant on this information. "The President knew it would be a girl."  
  
"But it wasn't."  
  
"I know."  
  
"But - "  
  
"I'm saying that the President KNEW it would be a girl. And the President is never wrong about things like that so - "  
  
Jed winced at the reminder as the room chuckled, their familiarity with this President evident. Another hand went up.  
  
"Steve?" C.J. recognized.  
  
"When do they anticipate having a name?"  
  
"I'm sure they are working on that even now," she assured them and the world. "I will add that we have had over two hundred thousand suggestions arrive by mail or email from all over the world and the President and Mrs. Bartlet are considering many of those."  
  
Part of that was true. There were almost a quarter of a million helpful world citizens that had contacted the White House about the baby's name. But Jed and Donna had not really considered them, even though some weren't that bad. They just wanted to do this themselves. But C.J. was a press secretary, and that bit of information certainly wouldn't hurt.  
  
"Okay. Monday the First Family will pose for a very brief photo shoot. We'll have those prints to you by Tuesday morning and if you're very good, I'll see about having the baby autograph them."  
  
More chuckles.  
  
She looked over her glasses. "All right, that's a full lid. Thanks."  
  
But just as she closed her notebook, they saw Carol step up and slip her a half-sized sheet of paper. Donna watched Jed tense as C.J.'s face froze.  
  
"Okay. Hang on," she advised quietly. "I have information here that a plane has gone down just outside of Chicago. It had apparently just taken off from O'Hare. Possibly a Boeing 757, but that's not confirmed. There is suspected - " She broke off, her face flushing. "That's all I have for now. We'll update you as soon as we know more." Almost before she had finished, they press room erupted into a Chinese fire drill with reporters dashing this way and that to check on the story.  
  
"Why did she stop?" Donna asked, already suspecting and dreading the answer.  
  
But her husband's response didn't come before the door opened again and Leo stepped in, his face holding a much different expression than it had only moments ago.  
  
"Mister President," he greeted formally. That wasn't good.  
  
Jed lifted his chin in that characteristic gesture of acknowledgement.  
  
"I need you in the Sit Room, sir." That wasn't good, either.  
  
"The plane?" he asked.  
  
Leo nodded. "United Flight 105. A Boeing 757. It apparently exploded as it departed O'Hare. We've got casualties on the ground, too."  
  
Jed's eyes closed for a moment, in prayer she knew. When he opened them, he braced his hand against the sofa back and asked, "How many passengers?"  
  
"A 757 can carry about two hundred and fifty. I don't know how many were on it today. I do know that it also carries eleven thousand gallons of fuel and it had just taken off, headed to Los Angeles."  
  
She saw Jed's jaw clench with his next question. "Terrorists?"  
  
Leo's expression didn't change, but he said, "Possibly."  
  
Dear God. Jed nodded and moved back to kiss her, then kiss his son, before he disappeared through the doors with his chief of staff.  
  
The music continued, its gentleness and sweetness blatant contrast to the disturbing news. Clutching the baby closer to her, she rose and settled in the rocking chair Jed had sent for from Manchester. In this chair, he had rocked all of his children and now she rocked another. And she prayed for him and for the child and for their country and for their world. It was a long time before she could bring herself to lay the baby in his bassinette.  
  
And after she did, she sat by the fire and waited. 


	2. Chapter Two

POV: Donna Spoilers: None, except the previous stories in this series Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: I don't know if AS has ever mention siblings for Donna, but I've created one here. Hope it doesn't contradict anything. By the way, except for a couple of characters, all have been created by AS.  
  
Jewel of Their Souls - Chapter Two  
  
A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Jed was running late - no newsflash there - so Donna took the moment to adjust her son's attire. The photographer had suggested a blue color scheme and she concurred. It would highlight the eyes of both her husband and child. She looked down at the baby and the swell of love that pushed at her heart nearly overwhelmed her. She had known she would love the child, had no doubts about that. But she had not anticipated the aching joy that had invaded her soul from the very moment that the infant, still slippery from birth, was placed on her. She wondered if Jed felt it, too. Wondered if his heart leaped each morning when he woke and remembered that he had created this life, this child - this son.  
  
"Hello."  
  
She looked up at the sound of the familiar voice and smiled at C.J., pushing back the tears that suddenly burned her eyes.  
  
"Donna, you all right?"  
  
How could she explain the emotions that surged through her? How could she relate the sensation of completeness? She decided she couldn't. Only a mother - or possibly father - could understand. Instead, she nodded.  
  
"Oh yeah. Just these silly hormones trying to get back to normal."  
  
C.J. didn't look convinced, but she seemed to accept the explanation, nevertheless. "Sure." Then she bent over to grin at the President's son. "Hey there, Little Jed," she greeted, offering her finger for sacrifice in the tight little list. To her satisfaction, the baby grabbed on and gurgled.  
  
"Little Jed?" Donna asked.  
  
C.J. shrugged. "Well, if you guys aren't gonna name him, somebody has to. And since he looks so much like his dad - "  
  
Donna smiled. It was kind of cute. "Okay. For now, anyway."  
  
"You look good," C. J. noted, still tugging gently against the child's grip.  
  
Donna raised her brow. She didn't feel as if she looked good. Quite the contrary. Although some of the weight had come off, she still felt wide and flabby. But her muttered complaints in front of the bathroom mirror merely garnered her scoffing protests from her husband, who showed her exactly what he thought of her body by running his hands down it and kissing the tiny stretch marks their son had left her with.  
  
"Where's Jed?" she asked, ignoring the compliment.  
  
"Briefing," C. J. replied quickly - too quickly. A sure sign it was not just a briefing. More than likely he was in the Sit Room again, surrounded by the Joint Chiefs and special advisors. He hadn't discussed whatever they had discovered so far in the 757 crash - she hadn't asked - but the tense lines in his shoulders when he trudged into the Residence at night revealed enough.  
  
Any explanation she might have been tempted to reveal was swallowed by the breeze that swept into the room as the subject of their conversation entered at his usual purposeful stride.  
  
"Sorry I'm late." His voice, one that she now associated not only with calm reassurance and confidence, but also with intimate whispers and endearments, warmed the room.  
  
"Speak of the devil," she grinned, lifting her lips so he could brush them with his.  
  
"Guilty," he confessed, kissing her again, a little longer this time, before he squatted on his haunches and placed another kiss on his son's forehead. A flash drew their attention.  
  
Jed's eyes darkened as he turned toward the tossled-headed photographer, but she placed a gentle hand on his arm, stilling whatever sharp remark he had intended.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mister President," came the flustered apology. "I thought - well - are you ready, sir?"  
  
C. J. stepped in quickly. "Mister President, this is Tony Fahrwell. He'll be doing the shots today. I told him you only had a few minutes, so he was trying to maximize the time, I think."  
  
Fahrwell nodded gratefully, his curly hair bouncing over one eye. Donna suppressed a smirk at the uncertainty on his face as he waited for the President's response.  
  
"Yeah," Jed finally allowed, after a long study of the young man. "Okay. Let's do it, then."  
  
With a nervous nod, the photographer directed them, carefully showing his respect, to the area he had set up with special lighting thrown to capture the mood he wanted.  
  
As they moved into place, Donna raised her brow in appreciation of her husband's attire. Not his usual office dress today. For the picture she had asked him to wear her favorite of his casual apparel. Jeans - always jeans - a navy open-collared, long-sleeved pullover shirt and soft, worn loafers. She didn't dictate his underwear - sort of hoped he hadn't -  
  
Uh oh. Maybe no one saw the flush, but she couldn't keep it from her cheeks at the thought. Not the time for that, she knew - Even though he looked good. Damned good. Good enough to eat. Okay. That just drew a deeper blush. Now he was looking at her curiously, as if he really wanted to know what she was thinking about. His eyes twinkled, and she considered the possibility that her body projected the sexual interest it had involuntarily generated. The kiss he gave her then, soft but promising much more, only supported her theory.  
  
"Excuse me." C. J. interrupted, her voice tinged with reluctance at breaking into the moment.  
  
Jed finished the kiss without hurry before he granted the press secretary his attention. Even then, he continued looking at his wife and child. "Okay. We're ready."  
  
"Yeah, I can see that - " C.J. mumbled and Donna couldn't suppress an embarrassed chuckle.  
  
The photographer guided them to sit close, their son between them, Jed to her right, the child cradled against her left arm so that he faced his father.  
  
To complement Jed, she wore jeans herself, able at least to squeeze back into an old pair, and a soft light blue sweater. Their son seemed unimpressed by his azure gown. Later, she imagined, he would look back on the family portrait and cringe in typical teenage embarrassment.  
  
C. J. watched them from behind the lights, her eyes bright with both the pleasure of seeing them and the emotion of the moment.  
  
"I only need you to do one thing for me," Tony Fahrwell instructed. "Talk - just be natural. I'll take the shots. Don't worry about poses."  
  
Jed shrugged and threw a glance at Donna. They could do that.  
  
As they interacted with each other and their baby, they grew accustomed to the flashes and clicks, eventually ignoring them completely. Speaking softly, they used this time to catch up on the lost moments since he had been pulled away to deal with the possible implications of the plane crash.  
  
"Theodore?" he asked abruptly. She had grown accustomed to his practice of throwing out names in the middle of other conversations. No reference was needed. "Means 'divine gift.' Also a rather famous presidential name."  
  
She considered it. Not the worst he'd suggested. She studied the infant's sweet face, mentally trying out the name. "What would we call him?"  
  
"Theo. Or Ted?"  
  
"Ted and Jed?"  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Theo and Leo?"  
  
"Okay. Maybe not," he conceded.  
  
For a little while they just sat, shifting as they felt like it, alternating looking at each other and at the baby, who stared right back at them with an air of confidence that spoke of his parentage. The shutter clicked almost constantly now.  
  
"Thanksgiving's Thursday," she reminded him.  
  
He answered her but kept his eyes on his son. "Did you call your folks?"  
  
"Yeah. They're coming. Gino, too."  
  
"Your brother? Did I meet him? He wasn't at the wedding, was he?"  
  
At first she felt a shock of fear zap her. Did he not remember meeting Gino? Then she almost laughed when she realized he was right. Gino had not been there at all. The fact the he wasn't sure was evidence of their total concentration on each other on that hectic day. She could barely recall who was there, herself.  
  
"No," she reminded him. "He was still overseas."  
  
"His reserve unit, right?"  
  
She nodded. Gino's unit was standing down, now, after almost a year in Afghanistan and she would be glad to see him, to have him meet Jed. As long as he behaved himself. He was still like a little kid sometimes.  
  
But as she felt Jed's fingers slip under the back of her sweater, out of camera sight, she decided he wasn't the only one.  
  
"Mom's pretty freaked about spending Thanksgiving at the White House," she told him, casually pushing his hand back down. Understatement. Her mother had almost fainted on the other end of the phone line when Donna issued the invitation.  
  
"Well, I'll be glad to get to know them," Jed assured her, content to caress lower back. "There was really no time to visit at the wedding."  
  
"You had - other things on your mind," she remembered, smiling slyly at him. The spark that leapt between them when his eyes met hers was almost audible. She heard C. J. clear her throat.  
  
That was true in more ways than one, too. Between Korea and their quest for some private moments, they had hardly had a chance to visit with their guests.  
  
"Don't be surprised if Mom just stares at you for awhile," she warned him.  
  
At his lifted brow, she explained, "She's still adjusting to the fact that she can actually use the line 'my son-in-law the President.'"  
  
He chuckled and kissed her over the baby's head. Another flash.  
  
"He's beautiful," she said, echoing the same observation they had both used daily since his birth.  
  
"Yeah," Jed agreed, as usual.  
  
"You know, we really need to -"  
  
"Yeah," he interrupted. He knew.  
  
She told him about C. J.'s christening and figured that "Little Jed" might just become the press secretary's designation regardless of their choice. He laughed, that rich, full laugh. Another flash.  
  
"All right," he promised. "By Thanksgiving, okay?"  
  
She smiled at him and they both looked down at Baby Bartlet. The shutter clicked again.  
  
By the time the session ended, Tony Fahrwell had collected a rich array of shots that all of America, and even the world, would more than likely devour over the next few days.  
  
Donna woke abruptly, not sure what had brought her out of a dead sleep until she felt the kick against her shin. "Ow!" she protested, ready to swat Jed playfully for that. But the word fell from her lips only half- uttered when she realized he was still asleep himself - and tossing roughly enough to push the covers from his body. A nightmare, or at least a persistent worry apparently held his subconscious thoughts.  
  
"Jed?" she whispered, careful not to wake him too suddenly. He did not respond. She tried again, pushing at his shoulder. "Jed?"  
  
But this time he pushed back, calling out hoarsely.  
  
"No! Stop!"  
  
Okay, maybe more than just a persistent worry. Many things had the potential of threatening his rest. A plane crash that could have terrorist connections was only one possibility. She placed a hand on his chest.  
  
He thrashed with more power now, throwing a hand up against an unseen attacker. "Stay away!"  
  
From the door, Donna heard an uneasy voice. "Mister President? Mrs. Bartlet?" Jonah peeked into the room, his stance revealing his distinct discomfort about entering. He knew the possibilities of what he might interrupt.  
  
Pulling the covers around her, she reassured him quietly, still trying to calm her husband. "It's all right. Just a nightmare."  
  
"Yes, m'am," he answered, and eased out, but his tone let her know he would be right back if she needed him.  
  
Jed's voice suddenly became clear, anguished. "No, Father - Sir! Don't! Just leave me alone!"  
  
Whoa. This was unexpected. A nightmare? she wondered.  
  
Or was it a memory?  
  
There were many things she did not know about Josiah Bartlet, many life experiences they had not shared. Was this something he had kept from her? Finally, her gentle caresses soothed him back to sleep and he rested peacefully until their son woke them both with his insistent cries to be fed. She didn't mention the dream and he didn't seem to remember it, but she filed the moment away for later.  
  
But this wasn't the last of the dreams.  
  
They were still half asleep on Thanksgiving morning, only two hours after the baby had had his four a.m. feeding and barely an hour away from the very last moment they could stay in bed. Snuggling deeper under the warm covers, Donna scooted back against her husband's body, hoping to feel his hands move automatically to rub her back as they sometimes did before he was really aware of what he was doing. And even then he usually indulged her, at least for a little while.  
  
Sure enough, he was curled on his side, facing her, and his right hand fell conveniently over her hip when she nudged him. With an incoherent mumble, he let his fingers gently knead the muscles as he leaned closer into her, still obviously not completely alert. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the delicious race of chill bumps over her skin, groaned softly with the release of stiffness and tension his touch brought. Then she groaned again as his lips slid over her shoulder and his hand snaked around her body to cup a breast, to caress her stomach. She wasn't sure he was really awake, yet, didn't know if he had an ulterior motive or was just taking a moment to cuddle. But when he pulled her closer against him and she felt the hard shaft heat her buttocks, she knew he anticipated more.  
  
"Jed," she whispered, not eager to wake their son who slumbered next to the bed.  
  
In answer, he pushed his hips harder against her, ran his tongue up her neck. She was caught between the automatic arousal his actions caused and the natural protest her healing body threw out.  
  
"Jed," she tried again, but his lips sucked on her earlobe. For a moment, she gave into his touch.  
  
"Come on, Abbey," came the soft coaxing.  
  
She froze, uncertain, unable to squelch the sick pang in her heart. That had never happened before.  
  
He had never called Abbey's name when he was with her, not even in the delirious throes of orgasm. A dizzy wave of jealousy passed through her, even as she tried to justify the moment. He was obviously still asleep, dreaming of her - of the First Lady. And Donna would always think of Abigail Bartlet as the First Lady, even though she, herself, held the title now.  
  
But how could she hold that against him? He had 35 years of history with Abbey, for goodness sake. Thirty-five years of intimacy, of - making love. What a strange sensation it was, coming face to face with another blunt reminder of his previous life. It was eerily reminiscent of Daphne DuMarier's troubled heroine and her struggle to overcome the dynamic, consuming spectre of Rebecca deWinter.  
  
Still, a meek voice of reason struggled to wiggle its way through the envy, the emotion that was disturbingly close to anger. He was not responsible for his subconscious thoughts, she told herself. It was bound to happen. That was only natural, logical.  
  
Despite her efforts, though, it still hurt.  
  
"Sweet Knees," he murmured again, running a hand over her hips.  
  
She almost panicked, had to do something, had to stop him. He was touching Abbey, kissing Abbey, making love to Abbey, not her. She had been strong, understanding.  
  
But she wasn't that understanding.  
  
"Jed," she called, louder this time, with more force behind it. At the same moment, she pushed at him, perhaps a little harder than necessary.  
  
His eyes opened, disoriented and confused for a moment. A flash of pain crossed his face; then he looked at her and brought himself completely into the conscious world. He smiled, a little sheepishly.  
  
"Hey, Baby," he greeted.  
  
Well, at least he recognized her. She forced the smile to her lips, made herself treat him as if nothing had happened. In truth, nothing had, except in his dreams. "Morning," she returned.  
  
As he became aware of his aroused condition, of where his hands rested, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry." He grinned, pulling his hands away, and the little boy expression helped soften her heart.  
  
Did she dare test it? Did he even remember what he had just been dreaming? "You okay?" she asked carefully.  
  
He laughed lightly, a short, almost defensive sound. "Sure. Why do you ask?"  
  
Pressing her lips together, she decided to dip a toe in. "You just seemed restless right before you woke up. And you were mumbling in your sleep."  
  
Now his eyes grew darker, guarded. "Yeah? What'd I say?"  
  
But she couldn't do it. Couldn't say something that would make him feel guilty. He couldn't help it, after all. And she knew he loved her, knew that without doubt. So she smiled gently and brushed the hair back from his forehead.  
  
"Couldn't tell, really," she lied. "Just mumbling." Now she let the smile broaden into a grin and she slipped her hand down to stroke him. "But it must have been good, from the evidence."  
  
A groan rumbled through his throat at her touch. "Ah, Donna," he gasped. "I know where this can't lead. And as good as that feels, I don't think I'll have much power to stop if you keep going."  
  
All right. That only encouraged her.  
  
She pumped harder, leaning in to kiss his chest, to swirl her tongue in the hair.  
  
"Donna," he warned, his voice hoarse.  
  
But she ignored him, determined to lead exactly where she wanted it to lead, at least until she was cleared for more active participation. She stayed where she was, her hands squeezing and stroking, her tongue flicking, her teeth nibbling, until he gave up trying to fight it and came, hard and strong, with her name on his lips.  
  
Satisfied, she slowed to a few, final caresses before she leaned back and watched him regain his breath. Finally, he opened his eyes and smiled at her.  
  
"Okay," he groaned. "I didn't expect that - but thanks."  
  
"My pleasure," she said. And it was the truth. She enjoyed bringing him pleasure just as much as she enjoyed the pleasure he brought her. Well, almost as much.  
  
"I made a mess," he observed, but didn't sound too remorseful about it.  
  
Slipping out from under the covers to retrieve a washcloth, she admitted, "I helped."  
  
"That you did."  
  
When she was finished, he pulled her into his arms and she felt his lips against her hair. "Donna?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
He hesitated, and such a long silence grew between them that she almost raised her head to look at his eyes, but then he sighed and said simply, "Happy Thanksgiving."  
  
Thanksgiving dinner at the White House had gone much better than Donna anticipated. With Annie Weston volunteering to check on the baby for her, and the food prepared and served, she allowed herself a moment of relief. They had dodged questions about the baby's name - at least for a while - and only occasionally did she have to glare in warning at her mother to keep her from staring a hole through her husband.  
  
Even Gino seemed on his best behavior, curbing his normally hyperactive energy to a barely-contained excitement. She stifled a giggle again as she remembered the look on Jed's face when his brother-in-law snapped a crisp salute at their meeting. But eventually the President managed to set him at ease - literally.  
  
The banter at the table grew, with Jed's girls chiming in easily, interacting with her own family in a way that made it seem as if they had been together for years instead of only a few hours. A glow of warmth spread through her and she lifted her gaze to try to catch Jed's eye, to share the satisfying moment with him.  
  
But he was busy, traditional knife in hand, carving the huge turkey that had been unfortunate enough to lose out on the pardoning lottery. She thought about what would have happened months ago if he had not followed her, had not confronted her about trying to leave. Where would she be today? Probably in Wisconsin having dinner with her parents, a single parent herself, harboring a secret that would tear her up. Instead, she sat at a table filled with laughter and warmth and love. The man responsible for that finally looked up and saw her gaze on him. He smiled softly at her, apparently comprehending her own musings. Donna blushed as Zoey smirked at them both, catching the unspoken communication between her father and step-mother.  
  
"Okay," Jed called out, balancing several slices of the bird between knife and fork. "Who's first?"  
  
"Mister President?"  
  
Damn it! As soon as Donna saw the young woman who had taken her place as Josh's assistant, she knew their cozy gathering was about to be disrupted. Jed turned immediately, years of interruptions moving his body out of habit.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Doctor McNally is waiting in the Sit Room, sir." Donna tried to recall the new girl's name. Vicky? Nicki? Something like that.  
  
He sighed and nodded all at once. "Okay."  
  
Catching her eye for a quick apology, he announced, "Sorry about that. Everyone go ahead. I'll catch up later."  
  
Charlie took up the task of carving the bird, his hands running almost lovingly over the knife. Donna made a mental note to ask him about the obvious significance of the instrument.  
  
Zoey picked up the conversation like a back-up host in her father's absence, directing her attention toward Gino. "Hey, Donna said you did some amateur boxing in the Army. That's cool."  
  
Oh good Lord, thought Donna. Don't ask him that. Why did I mention it before?  
  
But it was too late. Gino's eyes flashed with delight and his entire body almost bounced from the chair. Donna caught her mother's eye and figured she bore the same nervous expression. Gino's favorite subject was boxing, something Donna always had trouble understanding, but once unleashed, his enthusiasm was almost impossible to reign in.  
  
True to form, he had already leaped from his seat, re-enacting each bout of his ephemeral career, dancing around the room as he regaled them with blow- by-blow accounts. Donna watched carefully as his audience's reaction - mostly from Jed's daughters - shifted from initial bemusement to eventual amusement.  
  
Okay, not so bad. He was actually rather entertaining, she realized to her surprise, allowing herself to relax just a bit.  
  
He had launched into a particularly acrobatic stunt, rounding the head of the table and showing how he had knocked out his favored opponent, when their host returned.  
  
Sweeping into the room suddenly, Jed announced, "I think that's it for a whi-"  
  
But he never completed his sentence.  
  
To everyone's abject horror, Gino had already pushed into the swing, fist tight, and could not check it. To Donna's mind, the scene almost froze, pulling the movements down to frustratingly labored action. She tried to warn him, tried to stop the inevitable, but it was useless.  
  
Before she could take even one step forward, he caught the President hard on the jaw, slamming him back through the doorway.  
  
"Oh my God!" The cry was wrenched simultaneously from Donna and her mother.  
  
Now the action jerked to fast forward, and before they could blink again, Ron Butterfield, who had been trailing his charge, had one steel arm around Gino in a headlock, and the other pinning the unintended weapon immovably behind his back. The hapless young man stared wide-eyed at his victim, who lay sprawled, unmoving, on the carpet in the next room.  
  
For a long moment, Donna was unable to move, herself. Dear God, what had he done? 


	3. Chapter Three

This is the last chapter in this story. The next story that follows is "All the Way." Thanks for the feedback and encouragement for this series.  
  
POV: Donna  
  
Spoilers : Night Five; Holy Night (only a reference, really)  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: Gino Moss and Jed's and Donna's child are my creations. Everyone else belongs to AS.  
  
Jewel of Their Souls - Chapter Three  
  
A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
This could not be happening. This could absolutely not be happening.  
  
Donna stared at the surreal scene:  
  
Ron Butterfield holding her brother in a choke-hold.  
  
The entire table frozen with astonishment so sharp even the clock had stopped ticking.  
  
And the President of the United States lying flat on his back on the floor, arms flung out, one leg bent, one straight.  
  
Where had it all fallen apart?  
  
She couldn't breathe for a moment, couldn't propel her shocked brain into sending the message to her lungs to perform that necessary function. Then the gasp came, throwing her forward with an involuntary lunge.  
  
"Jed!" she cried, rushing through the doorway and falling to his side, her hands already touching his face, brushing back the hair.  
  
At the same time she heard Ellie yelp, "Dad!" and looked up to see the middle Bartlet daughter drop to her knees on his other side.  
  
For an interminably tense moment nothing happened. Please, Donna pleaded. Please be okay.  
  
Then with a very clear, very precise interjection, the President of the United States managed to prop himself on his elbows, one hand pressed to his jaw, a trickle of blood running from his bottom lip down his chin. The reddened flesh already swelled eagerly.  
  
Her first reaction was to laugh in relief. Her second was to fight the urge to inflict fatal damage on her brother.  
  
"Gino Moss, you idiot!" she snapped, swinging around to confront him. But the instant she saw the white face, the unconcealed fear marking it, she stopped. He certainly had not intended to floor the President of the United States - and his new brother-in-law - with that punch. Almost limp in the secure grip of Agent Butterfield, he was blatantly terrified.  
  
Ellie was trying to check the injury, making every attempt to evaluate the damage, but her patient did not cooperate. Shrugging off her assistance, and that of two agents, he stood on his own, grunting slightly as he probed the injured area.  
  
The rest of her family sat in stunned silence. Her mother looked as if she might faint right there on the spot. Her father was decidedly ashen.  
  
Oh God. She didn't think Jed would actually kill Gino, but she wasn't sure what he would do - not that he didn't deserve whatever was coming to him, but she really didn't want to see a family feud right here in the White House - on Thanksgiving of all days.  
  
He stepped toward his brother-in-law, unaware or uninterested in the steady drip of blood that stained his gray sweater. Donna braced for the reaction. She didn't even figure Ron would stop him.  
  
But as he drew nearer, his eyes refocused, and she watched the automatic emotion of anger give way to a forced calm.  
  
"Mister President?" Ron asked quietly, not budging an inch from his tight grip.  
  
Jed nodded, wincing as the movement caused him some pain. "It's okay, Ron," he said. "Let him go."  
  
With obvious reluctance, the agent released Gino, who somehow managed to remain upright.  
  
They stood facing each other for a moment before the younger man finally found his voice. "Mister President, I - "  
  
"Jed."  
  
Donna turned to stare at her husband. Gino stumbled, equally confused. "Sir?"  
  
And miraculously, a smile curved the President's lips, albeit a one-sided one. "My name is Jed. Since we're family now, you should just call me 'Jed'."  
  
She did not believe her brother could have been more stunned if Jed had laid him flat with a right cross. He swallowed once, then twice.  
  
"But - after - after I - "  
  
A shrug lifted the Presidential shoulders. "It was an accident. I understand. Donna said her brother was - demonstrative."  
  
Interesting way to phrase it, she thought, smiling in amazement, realizing she still had much to learn about her husband. Gino just nodded numbly.  
  
"But," Jed continued, the crooked smile still in place, "no promises next time."  
  
Assuming Gino ever screwed up enough courage to step foot in the White House again before Jed's term ended.  
  
The young man gathered himself and took a tentative step forward. "Mister Pres - "  
  
The President frowned and lifted a hand in protest.  
  
"J - Jed," Gino managed. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe - I just - "  
  
Maturity and experience enabled Jed to utilize wit in putting his brother- in-law at ease. "Well," he said, lifting a brow seriously, "we were going to name the baby after you, but you can forget it now."  
  
"Yes, sir," Gino stammered.  
  
Zoey was the first one to laugh, breaking the brittle tension with her cackle. Annie and Liz followed, joined by Donna's dad. Only her mother, Ellie, and Gino still seemed unable to find any humor in the situation.  
  
Someone pulled up a chair and helped Jed into it. Charlie disappeared, then reappeared carrying an icepack. The jaw had swollen significantly now and Donna gently pressed a washcloth to his split lip. Obviously, Gino had not been as effective in any of his real fights; otherwise, he'd still be in the ring. Of course, it helped that Jed had no idea he was about to be slugged by his wife's brother.  
  
A shadow appeared over her shoulder. She didn't have to turn to sense her mother's presence. Certain things are just instinctual.  
  
"Mister President - " she began.  
  
Through the ice pack and cloth, her son-in-law mumbled, "Jed."  
  
"Well, Je - well, I just want to - I just - "  
  
This was a first. Her mother, full of advice and opinions, found herself stumbling painfully over any coherence. Despite her amusement, and a little embarrassment, Donna bailed her out.  
  
"I think," she proposed, "that Mom is offering to deliver Gino for sacrifice to whatever government agency you want to be responsible for his extermination."  
  
That drew a momentarily horrified gulp from her brother, a humiliated semi- agreement from her mother, and a careful chuckle from her husband.  
  
"Car'st un I 'ow is I R Eh."  
  
"Smooth talker," Donna smirked, pulling the pack away so he could repeat his jibberish.  
  
"I said, 'the scariest one I know is the IRS.'"  
  
They all nodded solemnly, not even considering the words a joke. Ellie eased beside her and coaxed her father into letting her look at the wound.  
  
After a moment of probing, ignoring his grunts of protest, she pronounced, "Nothing broken. The contusion is going to be quite pretty in a couple of days. A nice laceration inside your mouth, but not bad enough for stitches." Standing, she prescribed, "Rinse with alcohol for a few days."  
  
Donna braced, fully expecting a question from Jed, a contradiction of his daughter's diagnosis. From the little she had been around when they interacted, she knew, for some reason, both seemed to play off each other's irritations. But he surprised her, and apparently Ellie, as well.  
  
"What brand?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"What brand of alcohol, Doctor Bartlet?" he asked, eye twinkling.  
  
And amazingly, Ellie gifted them all with a rare smile. "Dad, you are - " But she stopped and shook her head. "Vodka's your best bet - but only for medicinal purposes."  
  
Who would have thought it? Eleanor Bartlet had a sense of humor.  
  
"Yes, ma'm," her father replied, his voice light. But Donna saw the contradictory flash of sadness in his eyes. It disappeared quickly, but it had been there, and she realized Ellie had brought back memories of Abbey - had even sounded like Abbey.  
  
She tried to push past the irrational flush of jealousy, knowing his unconscious slip from that morning still weighed on her mind, still threw unsupported doubts of his love between them.  
  
Donna rocked her son gently as he nursed, enjoying the company of Zoey Bartlet, who had sneaked out with her after a curious peace had fallen on their interrupted Thanksgiving meal.  
  
"How's Dad's jaw?" she asked, only a hint of concern mixed with a great deal of amusement.  
  
Donna tried not to smile. Jed probably didn't think it was too funny. "It's okay. Bruised. C.J. will have an interesting time explaining it."  
  
"Well, it's not the first time - " she began absently, then stopped and bit her lip.  
  
Something clicked in Donna's head. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Nothing. I'll just get back to the - "  
  
But Donna didn't let her rise. She had questions, and it looked as if Zoey could provide answers.  
  
"Zoey, tell me something. Did something happen between your father and his father?"  
  
Her companion flushed and fidgeted in the chair. "What do you - "  
  
Sensing she was on the trail, Donna pushed, "Maybe when he was young?"  
  
Now it was Zoey's turn. She hesitated, clenching her jaw before she spoke. "Why - why are you asking?"  
  
"A couple of nights ago, your dad was restless - tossing and talking in his sleep. He was dreaming about something - or someone." She wouldn't mention his calling Abbey's name from last night. "And he sounded hurt - or scared. He called out 'Dad,' then 'Father.'"  
  
For a moment she thought the youngest Bartlet daughter would feign ignorance, but after a long silence, she nodded and reached out to stroke her brother's foot.  
  
"I don't know everything," she began quietly, the pain and anger for her father's childhood experience bleeding through the tone. "But once, when I was older, Mom told me that my grandfather - well - abused him."  
  
Damn it. Donna's heart ached for the young boy she had never known as well as the man she loved.  
  
"Mostly it was emotional, I think." She laughed once, a short, sarcastic sound that contained no humor. "Dad could never do enough to please him, to make him proud. Imagine that. Do you know what he made on his SATs?"  
  
Donna shook her head.  
  
"800/790."  
  
Dear Lord. Surely she was kidding. But Zoey's expression remained completely serious. Donna didn't even know it was truly possible to score that high.  
  
"A Ph D, an honored professor, a Nobel Prize winner, congressman, governor. He didn't live to see him become President, but somehow I don't think it would have changed anything."  
  
How could that be? How could anyone not be proud to have Josiah Bartlet as a son?  
  
Zoey's tone darkened now. "Sometimes it was physical. I found that out later. He hit him." She shook her head. "I can't imagine that. Daddy never - I mean never - lifted a hand to us girls. Any whippings we got - and they were generally well deserved - came from Mom."  
  
"Why - "  
  
She shrugged. "I don't know. Mom said he was jealous of Daddy. Jealous because Daddy was smarter than he was, angry because Daddy had his own ideas, couldn't be manipulated into another John Bartlet."  
  
Donna brushed the soft hair on her son's head. My God. How could such a tremendous person have developed under such an upbringing? "I didn't know," she whispered. "He's never - "  
  
"He's never talked with me about it, either. I wouldn't know except for Mom."  
  
"I love him very much, Zoey." She didn't know why it seemed important to say that then, but it was.  
  
Jed Bartlet's smile came back at her through his daughter. "I know. I'm glad he has you, Donna."  
  
"Hey! You ladies are missing dessert," called the voice of the man whose life they were analyzing. "Pumpkin pie or coconut cake." His body followed his voice and he appeared in the doorway. Donna noted that a purple splotch had already begun to discolor his jaw.  
  
"We can't have both?" Donna asked, throwing off the ache Zoey's revelation had brought.  
  
"Well, it'll cost you," he said, lowering his voice seductively, completely ignoring the fact that his youngest daughter was present. But Zoey just rolled her eyes.  
  
"Cost me what?" Donna wondered daringly.  
  
He wagged his brow. "We'll discuss your payment later, my dear."  
  
She colored. "Jed!"  
  
"Don't worry about it, Donna," Zoey assured her, rising to pass by her father and slap him lightly on the arm. "I'm used to it. He and Mo - " Her words tumbled to silence. Hurrying out, she mumbled, "Don't worry about it."  
  
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Jed tried to regain the lightness. Donna let him. This was not something she wanted to discuss now.  
  
"Coming?" he asked, hopefully.  
  
"As soon as the doctor lets me," she returned, leering back at him with his own seductive expression.  
  
He grinned. "Counting the days, Baby."  
  
So was she.  
  
They sat alone in the Residence, just the two of them and the baby, the excitement of the day worn down to a well-earned stillness, a satisfied, exhausted silence that didn't bother either of them at all. Her family was settled in their rooms, her mom no doubt making poor Gino pay dearly for his blunder. His had returned to their homes, getting away before the predicted snowfall. Just the three of them now.  
  
She concentrated on listening to the deep breaths of her two men, Jed's even and heavy, the baby's faster, but steady. The infant lay in his bassinette, gathering up his energy for an early wake up; he had settled into a 10:00, 2:00, and 4:00 pattern, which Donna figured could be worse. At least he slept in between feedings.  
  
She and Jed lay on the couch, facing each other, their legs entwined. But she was the only Bartlet with her eyes open. She took the rare moment to study her husband's face. Even battered he was handsome, but she winced at the clear damage. If Gino had not already looked as if he would have jumped off the Washington Monument, given half a chance, she would have pushed him herself. The swollen purple bruise marred his jaw just to the left of his chin, and his lip pushed out a bit with the torn flesh. She resisted the urge to kiss him - no need to cause pain just to satisfy some maternal instinct on her part.  
  
As she gazed at him, breathing deeply with a surge of emotion at the love she felt, Zoey's words returned to disrupt her contentment: "He hit him - I can't imagine that."  
  
Neither could Donna - couldn't envision anyone deliberately hurting a child. Couldn't understand why someone - and not just someone, but his FATHER - could feel so much envy that he would hurt Jed. Again, a swell of protective fury flushed her face and she truly believed that she would have taken the fireplace poker to John Bartlet if he had appeared that moment.  
  
A leg dragged over hers suddenly with a jerk, and Donna re-focused on his face. The peace that had been present was now disturbed with a tensing of his mouth, his brow. His head twisted from side to side.  
  
"No!" The cry, identical to the one she had heard only a few nights before, was ragged, desperate. "Please! Why do you - Sir! Don't!"  
  
Then he flinched and threw his arm in front of him, inadvertently hitting his jaw. The cry of pain was real. In one move, Donna leaped from her position and grabbed his wrists.  
  
"Jed!" she called, her body pulled forward as he jerked away from the restraints. She tried to hold on, but he broke her grip easily. Now she fell to her only recourse. With gentle fingers, she smoothed the furrowed forehead, kissed the tiny scar at his brow - the one he acquired in her apartment, the one that was physical evidence of his reaction to the news of her pregnancy.  
  
"Jed!" she called again, hoping she wouldn't have to scramble for secret service help.  
  
Finally, his thrashing stilled, his cries silenced, and his eyes opened slowly. "Donna?"  
  
"Yeah, Big Boy," she smiled. "You okay?"  
  
Grimacing, he sat and dabbed gingerly at his jaw. "I don't know why Gino didn't win more fights," he observed ruefully.  
  
She laughed. "His other opponents knew they were in a fight."  
  
"Ah. Next time I'd like some warning, then."  
  
"I'll see what I can do."  
  
She watched him for another minute or two, then gave in to the deep need to know - to help - to reassure, perhaps. He might not react well, she knew, but she had to try, anyway.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
He had leaned back on the couch, still testing how sore his jaw was. "Hmm?"  
  
Deep breath. Do it. "Tell me about your father."  
  
Those eyes that generally held such warmth, such love, cooled instantly. A hard steely glint shone in them, and she almost recoiled at the sight. "I don't want to talk about him," he stated flatly, standing to face away from her.  
  
But she had done the worst part now - couldn't stop here. As much as she wanted to go to him, to touch him, she stayed put. "I know - I know something happened," she said softly, hoping the compassion and love didn't sound to him like pity. "I know - there were problems."  
  
"Everybody has problems," he muttered, still turned.  
  
"Not like the ones you had."  
  
Now he spun, and the fury on his face scared her - the first time she had ever felt fear for herself in his presence. "What the hell do you know about the problems I had?" he snapped, then lowered his voice when the baby stirred. "What the hell do you know about it?"  
  
She knew he wouldn't hit her - that was never a thought. But the tone of his voice almost made her retreat. Nevertheless, she didn't. In fact, she stood to face him.  
  
"I know, Jed," she said, her voice gentle. "You - have had nightmares recently. One just a few minutes ago. You called out - you said - well, I could tell."  
  
His face had changed, the anger collapsing into horror at her words.  
  
"So I asked Zoey." When she saw his eyes narrow, she added quickly, "She didn't want to tell me at first, but I pressed. I wanted to know. I wanted to help."  
  
The sudden surge of emotion drained from his body and he dropped back to the couch, head in his hands. God, she wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but something told her to wait, to let him make the next move. Five minutes ticked off the clock before he finally spoke.  
  
"I've never told you - " he began, then stopped as his voice broke.  
  
She forced the swell of protectiveness back, knowing he didn't need to see pity in her eyes. And it wasn't pity, exactly. It was anger; it was outrage; it was incredulity at a man who would treat a child like John Bartlet had treated Jed.  
  
He tried again. "I never told you about my relationship with my father."  
  
It wasn't a question, but she shook her head anyway.  
  
His eyes shifted away from her to stare out the window, his thoughts perhaps flying back forty years. Finally, he sighed and conceded, "It was - complicated."  
  
Her hand slid to his, encouraging, reassuring, and he managed to smile weakly. But it grew as he let his gaze slide to the blue and white bassinette.  
  
"I think he wanted to be good," he said abruptly. "Meant to be good, but - but there was just - something that - " He looked up again. "He didn't like me, Donna."  
  
Tears burned her eyes.  
  
"I'm not sure why. I certainly tried to - Stanley says I'm still trying to - " But he stopped without finishing the confession.  
  
She knew he talked with Stanley Keyworth occasionally. Didn't know why, exactly - just figured he needed to relieve the unbelievable stresses he bore. But now things made sense. Now, she understood more. Now, she ached to do something, to ease the naked hurt in his eyes, to destroy the spectre of a miserable childhood and cruel father. But she kept silent, letting him work it out himself, waiting for him to make the decision of what to tell her.  
  
He leaned on his elbows, not looking at her. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "Abbey always said he was insecure, and he didn't know what to do with a child who was - well - who was smarter than he was. And she was the one who showed me what I could be. Who made me realize I couldn't let him hold me back. Abbey - and Leo - " As if he suddenly realized he had brought up something uncomfortable, he cocked his head toward her.  
  
"Donna," he whispered, reaching out to catch her hand in his. "Donna, I - I think this morning I said - " The furrow between his brows deepened. "I think I called - "  
  
Her slight nod confirmed it.  
  
"I'm sorry. I was dreaming - I was dreaming that - well, it happens sometimes. It used to happen a lot. Every night, and I would wake from a world where she was with me, in my arms, and be in a world where I had no one. And every single time I got sick - literally sick when I remembered she was gone."  
  
"Jed - " She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this, but he needed to say it, so she wanted to reassure him. He didn't let her continue, though.  
  
"I can't promise you the dreams will stop. I have no control over that. But I can promise you that I love you very much. And I dream of you every night. I dream of holding you and making love to you. And I dream of us watching our son grow. " Now he had both of her hands in his and the rich emotion in his voice told her even more than his words could. "You are my wife, Donna Bartlet. You aren't replacing anyone. You are the First Lady of the United States, and you are mother to our son - and you are my wife."  
  
"Oh Jed," she smiled through the tears. "I love you. I love you so much." Her hands cradled his face gently. "And I wish I could take away the pain he caused you. I wish I could go back and change it for you."  
  
He sighed, looking away. She pulled him back.  
  
"But you know what? I wouldn't do it."  
  
Now he shifted to look at her curiously.  
  
"I would not do it," she repeated, making each word crisp and precise.  
  
His eyes widened. "No?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I wouldn't do it because something in all of that, somehow, made you who you are. Something gave you the determination, the ambition, to do what you've done. You wouldn't be Jed Bartlet without that." She wasn't sure where that burst of wisdom had come from, but it surprised both of them.  
  
His eyes met hers, acknowledgement of the logic of her words sparkling in them.  
  
"What the hell am I paying Stanley for?" he wondered with a smile.  
  
But she wasn't finished. "You are not your father, Jed. Thank goodness you are not your father. You are a good man. The best man I know."  
  
He cleared his throat and rose to stare out the window. "He wanted to be good - " he repeated, almost to himself, then sighed again. "John Bartlet."  
  
Outside, a few snowflakes fluttered, members of the advance team for the storm that was coming.  
  
"It's a good name. It deserves a good person." He let his gaze trail back to his small son, one she knew he had never expected to have - and one she knew he loved with every breath in his body. One that he would never lift a hand to hurt. She knew that for certain. "John Bartlet."  
  
And she realized then. Realized what he wanted to do. Realized what she wanted to do. She looked down, too, and it suddenly felt right. John Bartlet.  
  
Now he smiled. "John Thomas Bartlet."  
  
"Thomas?" Then she realized that, too. "After Leo." Not a question.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She nodded. "Okay."  
  
"Okay?"  
  
"It's a good name."  
  
He nodded, tears in his eyes.  
  
It was late when they managed to reach Leo. Neither one asked where he had been, hoping he was at least enjoying himself and not working. Donna personally hoped he had been with Margaret, but she knew better. Her friend might admire her boss from afar, but she had shown no signs of actually approaching him. Well, that might be something Donna could work on.  
  
A crackling fire warmed the colors of the room and Donna rested in that contented state that usually overcomes celebrants when the flurry of activity has died and the food has been consumed. If the world would just stay like this for a few more hours, she would be satisfied - at least until tomorrow.  
  
After a tentative knock, answered by a call from Jed, Leo stuck his head in the door, brow raised in expectation. "You wanted to see me, sir?"  
  
Thank goodness he didn't have on a suit. Well, not exactly. He wore a jacket, but the knit shirt beneath was casual. Still, next to Jed's jeans and Notre Dame sweatshirt he looked almost formal, but he was getting better.  
  
Jed frowned and laughed at once. "Damn it, Leo, this is not a President to Chief-of-Staff conversation."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What kind of conversation is it?"  
  
Jed sighed. "A conversation between friends."  
  
Leo nodded. "Okay." He peered a little more closely at his friend, obviously noting the swollen, discolored jaw and split lip. "Then, as a friend, I'll ask what the hell happened to you?"  
  
Grimacing as he rubbed at the spot, Jed shrugged casually. "Just getting to know my in laws."  
  
Leo raised a brow in alarm. "What?"  
  
But Jed waved off any more questions. "I wanted you to meet someone." He motioned to the baby.  
  
The confusion clouded Leo's face. 'I think we've met - "  
  
"No. Not like this."  
  
He lifted the infant from his bassinette so that Leo could see him more closely. "Leo Thomas McGarry, I'd like for you to meet John Thomas Bartlet."  
  
For a long moment, the Chief of Staff stood in silence, but Donna watched as the tears shimmered in his eyes. Finally, he swallowed and nodded. Jed smiled, his expression soft, and placed a kiss on Leo's cheek as he shifted the child to his namesake's arms. Then he moved to stand next to Donna, slipping his arm around her and drawing her close.  
  
"It's a good name," she whispered to him.  
  
Almost absently, he murmured, "'A good name in man and woman is the jewel of their souls.'"  
  
No surprise. It was vintage Jed. She searched her memory for the source. "Shakespeare?"  
  
He grinned and nodded.  
  
What play? Hamlet? King Lear? No. Wait, she knew it. "Othello." Thanks, Mrs. Morillo.  
  
His brow rose and she felt a tinge of pride. He was not easily impressed. "Act Three, scene three."  
  
"He is," she declared softly.  
  
"He is what?"  
  
"The jewel of our souls."  
  
"He is," he agreed. "He certainly is."  
  
They watched Leo hold John Thomas Bartlet. A good name. A good man. And a man who should have been good.  
  
A name that had a second chance for goodness.  
  
Donna squeezed Jed's hand and kissed him gently. Looking into his eyes she saw the child who had never lived up to a father's expectations. She saw the youth who had somehow broken free of those bonds and stretched toward his potential. She saw the man who had spent his life working for a better life for his own children and the children of the world.  
  
A Ph D, an honored professor, a Nobel Prize winner, congressman, governor, President. He was a great man.  
  
But more than that - he was a good man.  
  
"A good name in man and woman, dear my Lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls."  
  
William Shakespeare Othello, Act III, Scene 3 


End file.
